


Trust My Kiss

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Feelings, Introspection, M/M, S8E10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:13:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Danny kept those visions of the future to himself. But they changed the way he looked at everything.... Especially the way he looked at Steve.





	Trust My Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I’d said, when I posted my first episode ten story ([“Blue Suits and Socks”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13350747)), that there were fourteen stories I could have written for that episode. Some of you took me up on that. So. Alright. You asked for it. Here’s one of the other stories that episode made me want to write. (Two down, twelve to go....? lol!)

Danny’d known they weren’t real. Even as they were happening. Sometimes he’d let himself go too deeply into them and he’d got a bit lost once or twice. But he’d known. Maybe it was something about the light... things were softer, warmer in the visions than they were in real life. There wasn’t as much sharpness as real life so often had. Not that the visions were dull. There was a glow to them, a vibrancy that called to him. Which he supposed was the point of near-death-visions.

Thing was. He kind of missed them.

Hospital lighting isn’t exactly what anyone would call soft or warm. And, Danny’s favorite nurse had a crush on him and got him extra jello, but she was mainly making up for the mean one who scolded him and had ice cold hands. Not that he really minded any of that. He was drugged enough to be able to block most of it nearly completely out.

But something else kept bothering him. Something that felt like it was wrong or missing or _off_ somehow. At first he figured it was just part of his recovery, just something that was vaguely unsettling that would somehow fade once he was back to normal. He told himself that every day he was in the hospital, and for the first five days he was out. But then he started to realize it wasn’t going to fade. And at the same time he started to think he knew what it was.

Everyone had been a little bit different in his visions. Grace and Charlie, obviously, were all grown up, Lou was mellower and so dapper in his glasses. Tani and Junior had blossomed, had really become fantastic adults—the pride he’d felt at that had surprised him. That they’d ended up together didn’t surprise Danny at all.

Steve hadn’t really been different.... He’d been there, constantly, right at Danny’s side... loud, assertive, bossing him around even in their old age... sitting so close to Danny. Sitting so close. Feeling so warm. His posture had been... almost possessive. Danny’d felt himself lean in to it, move toward it, as though it were the fuel that would sustain him, as though it provided the glow that would soothe him, the warmth that would heal him. He was pretty sure it was that pull that had kept him anchored, kept him from drifting too far away.

Which, really. That’s what Steve always did for him. Probably he’d known that. Relied on it, even. But having had that, so intimately while he was trying not to die.... It changed things. It changed what he needed, wanted, on a daily basis. And he was increasingly unable, _unwilling_ , to deny it. 

The one vision, dream, moment, he wasn’t totally sure what to call them, but the one that had worked its way deepest within his heart, furthest under his skin... the one that was slowly killing him... was the one of them as old men, still sitting in those damn rickety wooden chairs down on the sand at Steve’s place. He hated those chairs. Worn, faded, beat up, left sitting there, neglected, in the relentless Hawaiian sunshine, battered by the rain, softened by the blowing sand.... And he loved them, because it had been the place he’d been sitting when he’d first admitted to himself that maybe he didn’t actually hate Steve, that maybe he actually liked the guy... and maybe even a little bit more.

Of course he knew now it was a whole fucking lot more than “a little bit more.”

He’d stopped pretending that it wasn’t some sweeping romance, some deep, crazy passionate, soul-mates type love. Danny wasn’t one to believe in things like that. But he simply couldn’t justify his feelings for Steve any other fucking way.

Not after those visions.

They’d been swelling with it. Pulsing. Vibrant. Drenched. Drowning in it. Danny and Steve, Steve and Danny. Rachel was nowhere to be seen in any of them. Neither was Melissa. It was all Steve. And not just “there,” not just _part_ of Danny’s life, but the Whole Of It. The center of everything. Not just sitting next to him, touching him, shoulder to shoulder, hands on the smalls of backs, but _wearing his fucking socks_. I mean, what was Danny supposed to make of that? What _must_ Danny make of it, given that those visions came not from some external something, but his own most internal... _heart_. His true desire. Unfiltered, un-doctored. Everything he’d been not wanting to admit he felt, everything he’d not been able to confess, even drunk. It took near-death. Very near death. To get him to see it, to really feel it. To not try to deny it. To not fight it.

And now. The very real problem was. He couldn’t live without it. Not now, not having seen it, felt it, tasted it.

He was so fucking screwed.

It slowly started infiltrating every aspect of his life. The first thing he noticed was a shift in his reaction when Steve drove the Camaro too fast and too recklessly. He still got that swell of panic, still had the biological and totally logical sense of _goddammit Steven I’d like to live to see my kids again_ , but there was this unfamiliar energy that ran beneath it, and it took him a little too long to work it out, but once he realized, he felt like an idiot. Because it was, of course it was, it was attraction. Steve was frankly fucking hot when he got all lost in the chase like that, and Danny thought he’d probably always felt it, and maybe... that might have been a tiny bit why he always reacted so hugely. Pathetic, really, but a total defensive move.

There were also slightly more embarrassing versions. Like the way Steve stood, outside a crime scene, thigh holster strapped on, legs splayed, that... _posture_... Danny didn’t even know what to call it, other than Steve’s SEAL boss pose, as he directed everyone which way, handing out assignments as though he was born to it. Which, really, he was.

Thing was, Danny had started to see parallels, in some of Steve’s postures and behaviors in their real life that reflected those from the visions—the warmth, the possessiveness, that had become so compelling to Danny, so sustaining, so anchoring. Steve’s completely sexy restaurant owner moves really weren’t all that different from how he operated on a case. He was supremely self-possessed in both cases, but in a way that felt strangely focused on Danny. It was utterly compelling. But Steve had always been like that. Danny just was feeling differently about it now, having grown so dependent on it in his near-death state.

Steve always sat too close to Danny. Beers at Kamekona’s, pizza and a movie on his sofa, dinner out with the team, Steve was there, pressed against Danny’s side, arm slung around him if at all possible. And, Danny’d always just kind of accepted it. It was controlling, and Danny knew that Steve liked to control him, and Danny sometimes fought it, but Steve was simply too much for Danny to fight all the time, so there were times he just didn’t even try.

Now, though, now he was craving it. Now he’d find himself thinking “Is that as close as you’re gonna get?” or “Why are you so far away?” or even “Why the hell are you sitting on the other side of the table?” Once, as if in response to that particular thought, Steve had reached his legs out, under the table, corralling Danny’s with his own and squeezing. Danny’d been unable to move from his seat for a long time, and he’d had to remind himself how to breathe.

How much, he began to wonder, was this a change? Had Steve really been like this? Wasn’t there... some new _intensity_ to his actions since the shooting? Surely he was being more protective of Danny. It wasn’t just all in Danny’s addled mind, was it? Were the visions slanting how Danny perceived Steve’s actions? Maybe he just wanted it so badly now he was seeing more of it... and yet not enough of it.

He kept trying to understand it so it would maybe stop taking over absolutely everything, swarming his mind with sheer lust and burning need. It was driving him crazy. Fucking torture.

At some point it occurred to Danny that he had some agency here as well. He didn’t need to rely solely on Steve for this. There were things he could do. Steve had his Danny things he did... Danny needed some of his own. He didn’t even think in terms of that somehow getting Steve to realize he was thinking differently... there wasn’t really any kind of intention behind it other than Danny simply needing _more_. In a really frighteningly desperate and needy way.

He started moving closer against Steve when Steve didn’t sit close enough. He let himself openly admire Steve on ops. He allowed himself to enjoy that thrill he felt when Steve drove too fast. And when Steve drove more sedately, Danny started putting his hand on the back of Steve’s seat, because he could feel the heat radiating off of Steve that way, and it was like fuel to him, like it warmed something deep within him, and he was increasingly unable to hold on to his own heat without contact from Steve.

At first, Danny wasn’t sure if Steve had even noticed any of those things, and maybe that was partly because he was so caught up in them himself that he wasn’t watching Steve closely enough, and maybe it was just that there was a delay in Steve’s awareness of Danny’s new actions. But slowly Danny became certain that Steve was noticing. And responding. It was like a creeping, prickling, increase in attention. Steve would catch his gaze, and send it back, even warmer, more pointed, just a bare hint of something new tangled somewhere within it. When Danny would move closer, Steve would wrap his arm around him. If Danny put his hand at the back of Steve’s neck in the car, he’d slow and lean into it as much as he could.

And so things slowly began to escalate in this way. Layer upon layer, stacking gradually higher and higher, and maybe that imagery should have provided the warning that something highly unstable was building up to some kind of bursting, toppling, crashing point.

Things seemed to become more intense—not when they were alone, interestingly, but when they were with the rest of the team. If it was just them, there was an ease, a comfort to it. But when the others were witness, there was a bold kind of daring, a pushing of boundaries. Almost as if they were wanting someone to call them out on their behavior. So perhaps it was only to be expected that it all came crashing down one night after they’d all been at Steve’s, post-case, celebrating potluck style. Danny’d wound up perched on the arm of Steve’s chair, Steve’s hand had found its way up Danny’s shirt to the small of his back, splayed slightly upwards, mostly resting against his bare skin, still, but sometimes moving or even just pressing slightly. Possessive. Claiming. And daring anyone to notice.

Either no one did or no one was surprised. But by the time the others had left, Danny was certain he couldn’t take any more.

When Steve closed the door behind the last guest, he turned to Danny. There was a heat in his eyes that was always there, but it’d grown more intense. His legs were spread like he was getting ready for an op. He had that tense posture, that coiled control that Danny had realized got into his blood and lit him from within.

“So.” Steve’s voice was firm. No nonsense. Not tender, not flirtatious. “What changed?”

Danny felt his face crinkle, like he was flinching away from, if not the question, at least the tone. He bit his lip, but didn’t say anything—let his confused expression be his answer.

Steve took a breath and continued. “Ever since you got shot. You’ve been responding to me differently.”

His breath came sharply, hurt in his chest. “Can we sit?”

At first he thought Steve was going to say “No.” His eyes narrowed and he walked—resorting to his op movements, as though he was still in his boots and cargoes, not in fact barefoot in jeans. Usually his walk shifted with his clothes, and Danny was amused to see him taking this as a case. Amused but uneasy, and not terribly surprised. Steve neared the sofa, sat at one end, gestured for Danny to sit at the other.

“Okay,” Steve prompted, when Danny still said nothing. “We are sitting.”

Danny felt nauseous. He’d been feeling bold that night, leaning into Steve’s warm and claiming hand, wanting it to go further, hoping it would, imagining it would, when everyone else was gone for the night. This... this wasn’t what he’d expected. Steve almost seemed... angry. Danny was perplexed.

“What changed?” He asked, voice quavering more than he liked. A sigh escaped, almost unwilling, his chest stinging, taught, constricted.

“Yes, Daniel, what changed? You ignored me for years, now suddenly you’re responding...” Steve’s pause for breath was tense, exasperated, almost hurt? “Now you’re responding _this way_.” An almost wild gesture, presumably meaning the way he had that night... _willing_ , Danny assumed. Wanting. Seeking, even. “I want to know why. I think I deserve to know why.”

It felt like a punch, Danny had to admit. “ _Ignored you_?”

Steve let out a frustrated sound that wasn’t very far away from a growl. “You know what I mean.”

Thing was, Danny _did_ know what he meant. Steve’s physicality towards Danny had always been possessive; he’d just always succeeded in assigning it some weird Steve-like meaning, keeping it out of romantic territory, sometimes by sheer, I don’t know, _force of will_ , alone. He’d allowed it on a platonic level, was what he meant. Shoved it there, maybe. But part of him had probably known that wasn’t entirely how Steve meant it. It’d always had a bit of a power-play element to it. But underneath there’d been something considerably more fragile. He’d known that, and he’d tried to avoid acknowledging it.

Danny huffed, willing the tears that were pricking threateningly behind his eyes to fucking stay put. “I don’t know, Steven, what changed? Maybe I got shot and nearly died.”

“You’ve nearly died before.” It was petulant. Sulking. And it hurt Danny’s heart so much.

“Alright, well, maybe this time was different.”

“Why?”

There were two ways Danny could play this. He could try and frame it, twist what it’d been, make it something Steve might accept. Or he could just lay it out. And see what happened.

There was only one way that was going to sit right in his heart. He started to move towards Steve on the sofa, but he stiffened, so Danny stayed put.

“Alright.” He tried to settle himself for an uneasy conversation, but forced himself to begin before he felt ready. That seemed important. “So after I was shot, before I got to surgery... that whole time we were trapped in quarantine, that whole time you kept me alive.... I had these... visions. Kind of like they say, your life flashing before you? Only, they were all about the future.”

He looked at Steve, waiting for acknowledgement, some kind of acceptance, understanding. Something.

What he got was a blank look he couldn’t assign any kind of meaning to, other than _convince me how this matters_.

A few deep breaths and he sank back in. “I saw us running the restaurant. I saw Charlie graduate from the Police Academy. I saw Grace...” he swallowed. “...Get married. I saw us... as old men. Sitting side by side, in our chairs on the beach at your place.”

Steve had been trying to not get sucked in, but he was grinning, at least a little—at the mention of himself as an old man. Danny’d known that would appeal to Steve. It appealed to him as well. Anything indicating a long life for Steve.... Well. That absolutely was appealing.

When Steve didn’t respond beyond that slight smile, Danny forced himself to continue.

“And each time... each time you were there. Rachel wasn’t there. Melissa wasn’t there. It was always you. Lou at the wedding, but you. It was always you. Right at my side.” He had to take a break, find a way to try and breathe. It shouldn’t be this hard to breathe. It really shouldn’t. “ _It’s always you_.”

Steve’s impassive, unreadable expression was back. But he still didn’t say anything. After what felt like too long a time, and Danny’d figured out how to breathe again, he took a breath, leveled a look at Steve he hoped said _well are you going to say anything or what_ , and closed his eyes in frustration when he still got no reply.

“Okay....” Steve eventually said. “So what you’re saying is you fell in love with _Dream_ me....”

“No, that’s not—”

“How do you know? How can you possibly know that? You weren’t in love with me before, now you claim to be, but the only thing that changed was you had some vivid fantasies.” He paused for a ragged breath that Danny swore he felt inside his own chest. “How the hell else am I supposed to take that?”

“You’re an ass, you know that? A total and complete ass.”

“I’m not feeling so great about you either at the moment.”

“Okay, look. I see what you’re saying, alright? I do. But you’re making a pretty big fucking assumption if you think I didn’t have feelings for you before I got shot.”

“Okay, fine. But you never would have let me put my hand up your shirt before.”

It should have felt like a slap. It was how Steve had meant it. But it _didn’t_. Maybe because Danny was wishing to god Steve _had_ tried it, ages ago. “How do you know that?” It was barely a whisper, and it made Steve go completely still.

“I....”

“You never went that far. You never would have. Not before. Maybe I should be asking _you_ what changed. Because, yeah, I had those visions—fantasies if you like—but I didn’t start acting on them until _you_ did.”

Steve shifted uneasily in his seat. When he finally spoke, it was close to a whisper. “I really thought I was going to lose you.”

“I know the feeling babe.”

“No, I mean.... Usually when you go through one of these near death things... you wind up getting back with Rachel, or becoming closer with Melissa, and, okay, at first, I was waiting for that to happen. Waiting for Rachel to swoop in, like she did after the sarin. Claim you. Like you’re somehow rightfully hers. Like she always does. Or, that Melissa would take it as some big message, and push you to take it to the next level....” He paused, moved again on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. “When that didn’t happen... I didn’t know how to react. I was scared to hope, scared to put myself out there, to be rejected. But you seemed... different. You responded differently to me... and I got lost in it. And, yeah, it grew slowly, but then it seemed like tonight it really shifted, like we entered some new... level? I don’t know. And something just... I just need to know. Do you mean it? How can you.... how can you _know_ , how can you mean it, suddenly, after all this time...?”

Danny sat, just breathing for a bit. Processing what Steve had said, because he was right. Usually, after Danny nearly died, he’d wind up closer with Rachel. That hadn’t happened this time, and he wasn’t sure how much of that was him. He got where Steve was coming from, though. And he knew he’d been an obtuse jerk. He had no idea how to convince Steve of how those visions had affected him. How real it was. How fully he was _in_ this now. He wished he could share the visions with him. Because talking about them, he was pretty sure, wasn’t going to do it. There was just something about them that Danny _felt_ , in his heart. He didn’t know how to convey it to someone else.

“I can try and explain to you how much that experience impacted me. I can try and convince you that I do mean it.... But if you’re not willing to believe it, then nothing I say is going to help. Maybe it’s not something logical that I can explain. Maybe trying to use words is the wrong approach. What if.... Would you trust a _kiss_ when you won’t trust my words? Will you believe my lips?”

“I don’t know....” He sounded uneasy, but he was looking at Danny like he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

But Steve didn’t move, so Danny slid closer to him, pressed lightly against Steve’s body, folding himself into that warmth, letting it flood him, letting it heat him from the outside, seeping in, swirling across his hands, up his arms, through his chest. Steve moved towards him, as if he felt it too. Their lips came together, hot and soft and seeking. There was no dramatic spark, no sudden jolt, no electric flash. But there was comfort and certainty and something that felt a lot like _home_.

Danny wondered if it felt the same to Steve. Judging from the look on his face, it must have.

“Yeah, that’s hard to deny....”

“Look, babe. I know this isn’t easy. And I think _part_ of me always knew what you were really offering, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to truly explain why I couldn’t let myself see it. Why it took nearly dying to see what I really wanted, what I needed. But it’s not actually that I see _you_ differently now because of the visions. It’s that I can allow it now, what I want with you. And I am so sorry that I couldn’t do that before. But I’m here now. And, we’ve been doing kinda okay lately, I think. I like where we got to tonight. And I understand if you don’t trust that yet. But I think maybe the way to find that trust is to keep trying.... Let me prove it? Do you think you can do that?”

They hadn’t moved very far apart after the kiss, but Steve leaned back a bit now, visibly straightening himself, before he tried to reply.

“Shit, Danny. Even if I didn’t, I’d probably still take anything I could get from you. I think I hate that, just a little, and that’s probably what made me stop tonight and question it. But I’ve been in love with you from the very fucking beginning, so yeah, I’ll let you prove it. I probably won’t take much convincing....”

Danny’d never seen Steve look so... wrecked. Never heard him sound so... forlorn. He wanted to wrap him up in his arms, make all of that pent up pain wash away. Maybe it would take his own guilt, his own remorse, with it. Maybe a hundred kisses would start to smooth the hurt away, but maybe it would always be part of them, maybe it always had been. And maybe that was okay.

“I hope you’re right about those two old men, sitting on the beach together.”

Danny allowed himself a grin. “I know I am, babe. It’s cheesy, but those visions... they were so real....”

Steve seemed a little lost, looking at Danny’s lips with curiosity and longing. “ _Kiss me again_.”

“You’re still gonna boss me around, aren’t you,” Danny replied, amused, delighted.

Steve met his eyes, levelly, certainly. And very warmly. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“No, you know, I actually think I might—” But the rest of his reply was lost on Steve’s lips, and his protest died as the kiss deepened and swirled them both into something that felt very much like one of Danny’s visions. Only way better.


End file.
